


whistling past the graveyard

by Sorrel



Series: Best Laid Plans [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Canon Bisexual Character, Canonical Character Death, Drunk Sex, Episode 116 - Legendary, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Missing Scene, a triangle in nature, an assassin and a pyro walk into a bar, fuck the pain away, no ship like partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6959935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorrel/pseuds/Sorrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene(s) from episode 1x16, “Legendary.”  Mick and Sara have an unpleasant duty to fulfill after Snart's death, and then toast his memory the old fashioned way: by splitting a bottle of booze and maybe a few other things, too.  Leonard Snart might be gone, but he's certainly not forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whistling past the graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> I caught up on LoT the night before the season finale, wrote part of the this the morning of, and then got Jossed when no one went to tell Lisa what happened. (C’mon, guys.) So I did some rearranging and slid this in between the cracks. Takes place after Mick’s jaunt to 2013, but before they all meet back at the _Waverider._

Mick’s not even surprised when he gets to the car and finds Sara leaning up against the driver’s side door. Nobody on the whole damn team’s let him do a single fuckin’ thing on his own since they landed back in the present, why should today be any different?

He steps up to her silently. Crowds her back against the door, close enough that open ends of her jacket brush against his belly, lets her feel the size and heat of him. The top of her head barely comes up to his collarbone, but she just tips her chin up lazily, gives him an unsmiling look of absolute stubbornness.

He could barely get her out of his way when he was willing to kill her for it. There's a couple people on the ship she'd listen to, on a good day, but talking ain't exactly Mick's strong suit. Fuck it.

“Move over,” he grunts. “I’m drivin’.”

She straightens away from the door with an easy shrug and tosses him the keys- which had been in his jacket pocket a moment ago. Looks like Snart was teaching her something besides poker all those hours they spent together, after all.

The house is a couple hours' drive out of the city. Could've made it in a few minutes in a jumpship, but he hadn't wanted anyone from the team involved in this little jaunt. At least it's not Pretty Boy this time. If it's got to be anyone, Canary's the best possible option. She makes for better scenery than the highway, and she's quiet. Too focused on the mission to bother with small talk: duty first, then indulgence, that was always Snart’s way. Sara’s cut from the same cloth.

Or maybe they just don't have much to say. They've never done much talking, him and Sara, though he's spent a fair amount of time around her- well, around Snart, but somehow Snart always found an excuse to be around her, so. Not like Mick minded either way. She always was his favorite, and they did just fine with silent companionship. And what would they even have to say to each other, anyway- “You’re really good at killing?” He doesn't think that’d go over much better than telling her younger self that he liked the way she smelled had when he was a teenager.

He watches her out of the corner of her eye as he drives. She looks straight ahead, her palms flat against her thighs, her normally mobile face still and quiet. There’s new lines around her eyes and mouth, a hectic flush standing out against her pale cheeks that tells him she’s been crying recently. She went back to Star City yesterday, must have driven all night to catch him so early this morning. He’s pretty sure she hasn’t slept since they killed Savage.

He hasn’t, either. How can you rest when your left hand’s gone? And this one ain’t gonna grow back from some clone-bank, either. Not like Snart’s did, that crazy sonofabitch. Shot his own fucking hand off to get free. Shoulda known not to leave him on the ship alone. Give that fucker an inch and he’ll take a whole fucking mile-

Did. He _did_ take a whole fucking mile.

Ah, goddamnit.

Eventually, the gray cityscape gives way to equally gray countryside, limp and hazy in late spring heat. It's been a while since he's driven this way- months even before Hunter took them out of 2016, and an unknown number of years since, but he still remembers the way. He turns into an unmarked driveway, pulls up in front of a squat green cottage with a wraparound deck. Snart's requirement. If he had to get out of the city, he at least liked to sit outside and enjoy the fresh air when he was plotting.

Mick cuts the engine and looks over at Sara. She’s dressed in civvies, at least. Not that he doesn’t like the look of her in that white corset, but considering where they are, anything that smacks of a costume isn’t gonna go over so hot just now.

“You sure you wanna do this?”

She looks at him sidelong, and a tiny smile curves the corner of her mouth. “You trying to take care of me, now, Mick?”

He shifts, uncomfortable, but says it anyway. He’s been saying all kinds of shit lately he should probably keep his mouth shut about, but fuck it. “Someone’s gotta.”

He figures there’s a better-than-even chance she’ll hit him for it, but she just smiles a little wider, pats his shoulder. “That’s sweet of you,” she says, half-laughing at his instinctive grimace, and gets out of the car. He sighs and follows.

Lisa doesn’t answer the door at his first ring, though he knows she’s here- her car’s out front, and the kitchen light’s on. She’s a fanatic about turning that shit off when she leaves. Not like she can’t afford the electricity now, but old habits. Mick’s got a few of those himself. More money than he knows what to do with, but is he gonna retire on a beach somewhere? Fuck, no. He’s gonna live cheap and dangerous till he goes down permanent, like God fucking intended.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, fidgets with his lighter. Thinks about taking it out, but looks at the door and curls his fist around it instead. Time and a place, like Snart always said. The lack of something to do with his hands leaves him rocking back and forth on his heels, only to still when he feels Sara touch the narrow band of skin at his wrist where his sleeve rode up. Her hand's as pale as the rest of her, standing out starkly next to the worn black leather of his glove. Her slim fingers are cold and bloodless, despite the warm eddies of spring air around them. Her silver rings feel like ice.

“Hey,” she says, and he realizes he didn’t react when she touched him, didn’t flinch away like he shoulda or even say anything, just stared at her in silence. Damn it, he’s out of it. Probably shouldn’t be here yet, but if not now, then when?

“Yeah.”

She looks up at him, her blue eyes clear and calm. “You’re going to be fine.”

It’s not what he was expecting her to say- ask him if he was okay, maybe, or if he wanted to do this. Offer him an out, like he tried to give her. But, “You’re going to be fine,” she says, no doubt in her voice. No determination, either, not like Ray woulda said it- like he could make it happen if he just wished hard enough. Just easy confidence.

“Yeah,” he says, and straightens his back. “Sure.”

She gives his wrist a squeeze and starts to pull away, but he reaches up, pins it into the crook of his arm. Steps a little closer to her, keeps his gloved hand cupped over hers. Loaning a little warmth, since she's not doing so great with that on her own. He’s got plenty to spare.

She says nothing, but he feels her lean in against him, giving him her weight. Just a little. ‘Cause he can take it.

She’s the one who presses the doorbell a second time, and maybe that’s what Lisa was waiting for, ‘cause a minute later the door swings open, and there she is. Pretty little Lisa Snart, with Leonard’s sea-glass eyes flicking from him to the woman at his side. Just as smart as her brother, even if she doesn’t always act like it.

_The beautiful thing about time travel is I get to kill her more than once._

“Hey, Lize,” he says, as gentle as he can, hearing his voice come out an awkward grate and hating himself for it. Sara’s fingers tighten down painfully on his elbow, and he bumps his shoulder back against hers. Right. Just do the job. “Can we come in?”

**~*~**

An hour later, they’re back out the door. Mick makes it as far as the driver’s seat of the car before he just- runs out.

_I can kill Lisa in front of you, go back in time, kill her in front of you again. And again. And again._

Fuck, his head hurts.

“Well, she’s got the Snart right hook,” Sara says with false cheer, leaning disconcertingly close over the console to peer at the side of his face. “She really clocked you.”

“Nn, yeah. At least she didn't use the gun. Last couple times her brother got me he used the gun. Fuckin' thing's heavier than it looks."

Sara gives him a sideways look. "She's got a gun, too?"

"Yeah, Snart made the other one with all the hair build one for her too. Did you not know that? I thought you cape types all talked to each other."

"Not as much as all you criminal types. Plus, I was a little busy being dead at the time." Despite the asperity in her voice, her fingers are gentle when she lays them against his jaw. Her fingers don't feel much warmer even after an hour in the house, but the cool touch feels good on the growing bruise.

"Nn. Excuses."

"I'm a little out of the gossip loop. I tried to do some reading on everyone before we took off on our great big adventure, but the file on you all was a little thin. Something about a deal with Flash?"

Ha! Yeah, that was a good one. He was out of town at the time, but he heard allll about it later. "Yeah. Poor kid was a fuckin' sucker."

"Yeah, I heard he was the trusting type." She gives a last, lingering stroke to his jaw, the pads of her fingers catching crosshatch against his stubble, and then pulls her hand away and tucks it down into her lap. "So I'm noticing Lisa's the temperamental type. I would have thought she'd be more like…"

"Snart?" he snorts. "Nah. She's more-" Fuck it. He's been sitting on this joke for two goddamn years. "Hot-headed."

There's a pause, and he turns to find Sara staring back at him with that perfect blankness she can do sometimes, where even Snart could never seem to read what she was thinking. And then- "Would you say she's not as good at… playing it cool?"

"Hah! That's a good one."

A little smile twitches the corner of her mouth. "I've got dozens more where that came from. I've been storing them up. I tried to break out one or two the first couple weeks, but-"

"Yeah. He was an asshole about it. He'd make those fuckin' puns all day long, but the second someone else said one-"

"He got all offended! God, I know. He'd make that face-" She does such a stunningly accurate impression of Snart's annoyed squint that Mick can't resist the snort of laughter that escapes him.

"I think he was just annoyed 'cause someone else thought of it first."

"Oh, definitely."

Then her little smile fades, and he gets it. The past tense. Talkin' about Snart like he's gone. Which he is, fuckin' obviously, but Mick can know something in his head, and still have it take a while to get through to the rest of him. He still doesn't know if last night's jaunt to 2013 made it better or worse.

Either way, it'll catch up to him eventually.

"It was unfair, what she said in there," Sara says, when the silence has stretched long enough to hit uncomfortable. "It wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't yours, either." Sara goes still, and he tips her a sideways look. "I wasn't the only one she swiped at back there."

"I mean, I did kinda force him to stay when he wanted to fly off," Sara says, after a moment. "He'd be alive if I hadn't. That one's on me."

"That asshole never did a goddamn thing he didn't mean to do anyway," Mick says. If there's one thing he knows about Snart, it's that. "He wasn't too hot at leavin' people behind, no matter what he tried to pull." Otherwise he'd be sitting here instead of Mick, and he'd probably be handling the whole thing a whole lot better. He and Sara were always on their own wavelength Mick couldn't quite reach, like two clever little peas in a pod.

Snart would have the right words. Mick's got a talent for killing things, a chronosense most Time Master would envy, and shit-all else. He doesn't even have his fucking partner anymore.

But at least Snart didn't leave him on his own this time.

"Hey," he says, and turns to look at her, catching her gaze with his. All the others tend to flinch away from full eye contact with him, like maybe the crazy will be catching, ‘cept Haircut at his most earnest and her. She’s always looked fearlessly back. He doesn't scare her 'cause there's nothing that scares her worse than the inside of her own head. He gets that. Maybe the one thing he understood about her better than Snart, who feared turning into someone else. He and Sara already lived out the worst possible versions of themselves. “I got an idea.”

She tilts her head, letting the pause unspool between them for a moment. "Yeah?"

“Let’s go get fuckin’ wasted.”

She gives one slow blink. "Fuck, yes."

**~*~**

They don’t go to a bar, by mutual and unspoken agreement. They shouldn’t inflict themselves on other people tonight. But they swing through a store, pick up glasses and a bottle of liquor- Sara’s a vodka girl, big surprise- and find a suitably out-of-the-way motel on their way back into the city to hole up. No interruptions tonight.

The kid behind the front desk hands over the key with a leer, wiggling his eyebrows at Sara’s back. Mick growls low in his throat, and the guy blanches and looks away fast. Sara starts laughing as soon as they walk out of the lobby. Mick looks down at her and raises an eyebrow.

“You defending my honor, now, Heatwave? I think I’m touched.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles. “Assumptions. Fuckin’ punk.”

“Well, _I_ think it’s sweet.”

“You keep sayin’ that.”

“You keep bein’ sweet.”

The tiny curve of her smile is maddening. “You know what, Canary?” She arches an eyebrow at him in challenge, and he holds up the bottle of vodka. “How ‘bout we see if you’re still sayin’ that a few shots in.”

“I dunno, big guy. I seem to remember that I wiped the floor with you last time we tried this.”

“Nn. I hadn’t touched a drop in years. Think I can make a better showing this time.”

She just smiles at him, that enigmatic curve that reminds him irresistibly of someone else altogether. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

The room isn't anything fancy, just a bed and two nightstands, a bathroom barely big enough for him to turn around him. No table to line up shot glasses, but for all their big talk they're not keeping score tonight. They divide up the bed between them, him leaning up against the headboard and her folding herself cross-legged at the foot of the bed with the kind of unconscious grace that only truly great fighters have. Her return to the League treated her well, as best as he can tell. There was a heaviness to her movements before, a hesitation, that's gone now. Exorcised her demons, at least as well as she can.

He's not a slave to the flame anymore, either; Declan saw to that. Doesn't make either of them any less a killer.

The first couple shots go down silent, both of them lost in their own thoughts, but then Sara breaks the ice with a hesitant smile and a teasing comment about him missing out on their last bar fight, and he points out that she _started_ their first bar fight without ever actually taking a sip of her beer, and from there it's easy to slip into the simple give-and-take of braggadocio and one-upmanship. Shit that Mick’s done a hundred times over a hundred drinks, because he might’ve been a psycho but he was still more social than Snart, and _somebody_ had to keep their contacts greased.

After a while, the banter turns to reminiscing- missions they’d worked together, missions they’d worked separate. She tells him about getting high with young Stein in 1975, how shocked he and Jax had been when she’d taken out the guards- “Seriously, like that’s even a challenge!” He tells her about the shootout outside of Salvation, since she was off with Kendra at the time- “Told ‘em we should’ve brought you along.” (He’s a little sorry he was off doing stupid shit with Snart and missed the chance to see her all dolled out in her society-lady dress. Word from Jax is that it was heavy on cleavage and long on leg.)

And eventually, they end up back to the reason they’re here in the first place.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so pissed as when Gideon showed him that newspaper article,” Mick says. “He hated that asshole more than anything and he still gave him the biggest score gratis. And the old bastard _still_ fucked it up.”

“You can lead a horse to water,” Sara sighs. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“That makes two of you. Made. Whatever.”

She makes an irritated noise at the back of her throat. “At least he tried.”

“Not sure trying’s worth shit, but sure.” He rolls up onto one elbow and looks over at her. They’re about half a bottle deep, and while neither of them are properly drunk yet, she’s still stretched out on the end of the bed, hands folded over her belly, staring at the ceiling. Lack of sleep more than the booze, probably. They’re both punchy as fuck. “You still thinking about trying for your sister?”

“No. Yes. Well, not really.”

“Real definite there, Blondie.”

“Rip gave me a real nice taste of what happens if I go back early,” she says. “Basically, I don’t save her, and I die too.”

If he could go back, could duck that punch he didn’t see coming- “Might be worth it. Hunter doesn’t know everything.”

“And my dad dies,” she says. “Would you risk- well, I don’t know if you have any other family. Lisa? Would you risk Lisa on the off-chance that you _might_ save Snart?”

_The beautiful thing about time travel is I get to kill her more than once._

“No,” he says, and is surprised to find it’s actually true. “But then I’m a cold-hearted bastard.”

She smiles at the ceiling and knocks her boot against his. “Thought that was your partner.”

“Nah. He played at it, but didn’t have the stones to commit to being a true asshole. Once upon a time, maybe. But Flash got to him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He stopped killing when Flash asked him to, you know that?”

“Still dead then.”

“He did. Craziest fuckin’ bargain I ever heard, but he kept it. Told me that Flash appealed to his vanity, made it into a challenge, but I know him. It was more than just the game of it, even then.”

“Huh,” Sara says. “Didn’t I hear that Snart helped him out with some bad guys, or something? Not that far back.”

“About a month before Hunter jacked us,” Mick confirms. “One of the nutballs Snart saved a ways back broke him out of Iron Heights, wanted his help killing the Flash. Snart broke into the kid's house to give him a head’s up.”

Sara snorts. “Cocky bastard.”

“Yeah. He tracked me down right after, started planning the next job like nothing happened, but I knew. Flash fucking _got_ to him.” He goes silent for a minute, remembering the pensive quiet on Snart’s face. It hadn’t been a surprise when Snart had wanted to throw in with Hunter after that. Not really. “Damn, he had the worst crush on that kid.”

Sara leans up on one elbow to stare at him. “Seriously?”

Ha! Managed to surprise Little Miss Clever after all. “Oh yeah. He played it close to the chest- you know-”

Sara nods, ruefully.

“-but he’s got a type.” He eyes her meaningfully. “Smart and cute.”

“Yeah, I’ve been informed that Flash is sort of like a very intelligent puppy on speed,” Sara agrees absently, then pauses. “Wait. You meant me?”

“You tryin’ to tell me I’m wrong?”

She’s pale enough that even a faint blush stands out in high relief on her cheeks. “No. Well, I mean, not that we actually…”

“Yeah, I figured.” She eyes him sideways, and he snorts. “Known that punk thirty years. I ain’t bright, but fuck knows I can tell when he’s plotting. He actually work up the nerve to try something?”

“Kinda. Danced around it, anyway.”

“He never did anything straight if he could come at it sideways, the cocky sonofabitch.”

“He might’ve done more than dance if he hadn’t pulled a gun on me six hours earlier.” She catches his look and grimaces. “I told you he wanted to fly out of there.”

“Ballsy,” Mick says, a little impressed in spite of himself. He’s done some dumb shit in the past, but he’s never tried to hit on a woman after threatening to kill her.

“I told him he’d have to be one hell of a thief if he wanted to steal a kiss.”

Mick snorts a laugh. Fuck, he can just picture Snart’s fuckin’ _face._ Only thing he liked better than stealin’ stuff was a challenge. God knows Sara fits the bill. “Fuckin’ knew I liked you, Blondie.”

Sara isn’t smiling, though. “‘Course, then he went and got himself killed.”

Mick sobers. “Yeah.”

“I mean, I kissed him before he, y’know.”

“Yeah.”

“But it’s not the same.”

“Yeah.” He knows how she’s thinking, playing out all the ways it could’ve been, if things had gone down different. Maybe Snart never went back, and Mick went down like he shoulda, and she’d be sitting here with Snart, drinking to _him._ Or maybe it’d be on a job, heat of the moment and the thrill of victory, one of the rare times that Sara’ll smile with her whole face. Or during downtime, one of their endless poker games, letting the wagers get interesting. Or after a job, sometime, Snart coming by with a drink and a smile to cheer her up, letting one thing lead to another...

Mick knows it because he’s done it himself, a hundred times, a thousand. He never let himself dwell on the jobs that went wrong, not like Snart, control-freak to the end. But you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take, as the saying goes. Mick’s missed a lot of shots over the last thirty years.

“Hey, while we’re on the subject-”

He eyes her sideways, wary of her suspiciously bright tone. “There is no subject.”

“-maybe you can answer something for me,” she continues, ignoring him. “I always figured on the two of you having a thing back in the day. Care to comment?”

“ _No,”_ he grunts, but she just stays there, up on one elbow, staring at him expectantly. Goddamnit. “I wasn’t exactly his type.”

She tilts her head. “I notice you’re not saying he wasn’t yours.”

This bullshit right here is why he doesn’t like feelings. “Everyone’s my type, Blondie,” he says, giving her a leer. “You of all people shoulda figured that by now.”

If she’s put off by the pass, it doesn’t show. “No, but come on. He was your partner.”

“He was my boss,” Mick corrects. “Snart liked to put a pretty spin on it, but I prefer to call ‘em like I see ‘em. He did all the thinkin’ for the two of us, and I got to burn shit and make money. Simple.”

_You’re the best guy I ever knew. You may not think you’re a hero, but you’re a hero to me._

“Yeah,” Sara says, rolling her eyes, “because when I think about Leonard Snart, the first word that comes to mind is ‘simple.’”

**~*~**

She lets the subject drop after that, thank fuck, and lets the conversation go downhill- or maybe the booze just finally kicks in, whatever. She tells him stories about her rebellious youth with wannabe bad-boys (pathetic, but at least she's not half-bad with a set of lockpicks) and he retaliates with a better part of an hour's worth of tales from Snart’s younger and dumber days, making sure she stays distracted enough to keep her from going back to the earlier topic of conversation. This is fuckin’ wake, after all. Supposed to be about the good memories, not the shit he can’t change.

He gets up to take a leak at one point (staggering a bit more than he'd like to admit) and when he comes back, Sara’s sprawled out in his spot at the bed, eyes closed. Mick grins to himself (rookie mistake) and drops down onto the bed next to her, as heavy as he can, making her yelp and flail as the mattress has a go at bouncing her pretty white ass onto the floor. Taking pity, he snags her by the shoulder to hold her steady, and she fumbles back onto the bed and accidentally rolls into the divot at the center of the mattress. She overcorrects and ends up mashing her face into his shoulder as she falls against his side, and not gracefully. Heavier than she looks, that one. He tries to shift away again, but she just fists her hand in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, right over his belly, and hums into his arm.

Well okay then.

“We should stock up on stuff before we go back to the ship tomorrow,” she mumbles into his shoulder. He will never, on pain of pain, admit that it's kinda cute.

“What, like weapons?”

“Don’t be stupid. I already packed all of my weapons last time.”

Yeah, he’s seen her stash. “Good thing the _Waverider_ can make you new clothes.”

“Priorities,” she agrees. “We should take booze.”

_Good_ priorities. “Think the captain’ll throw a fit about it?” Time travel on a hangover isn’t what you’d call a good idea. It’s in all the manuals Declan made him read. God, he’s so glad he killed that prick.

“Don’t care.”

“Good point.” He considers his own wish list. “Snacks,” he says positively. “All the bullshit Hunter stocks is all sugar-free. It’s crap.”

“Ooooh, _chocolate,_ ” Sara says. “Fuck me but I haven’t had chocolate in like. A year. Probably more.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“I know!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Well, I was dead. Then I was in Tibet. Then I was on a ship with no fucking chocolate. I’ve been a bit busy.”

“That’s no way to live.”

“I know.” She rolls over slightly, more onto her back, but doesn’t actually move any further away from him, despite the fact that he's not exactly holding her tight. He shifts to get his elbow out from under the bony wings of her shoulderblades, ends up draping it more comfortably across her shoulders. She just gives a thoughtful hum. “When I came back- you know-”

“From bein’ dead,” he supplies, and she nods.

“I guess I didn’t really let myself have much of anything. I didn’t even kiss a girl until we were in 1958, how wack is that?”

After Snart had left him, before he caught up to them as Chronos. He tries to picture the other woman- dark hair and dusky skin, like the assassin she’d hooked up with before? Nah, probably not in the fifties. Dicey enough with two chicks as it is. Maybe a redhead, everyone loves a redhead. Or a blonde, like her- now _that’s_ a nice image. Storing that one for later.

“It’s fuckin’ tragic,” he says, only a little belatedly. If she notices his distraction she must chalk it up to the booze, because she just snorts and rubs her thumb against his ribs, right where the leading edge of the scar tissue is. Even through his shirt he can feel her nail flick over the edge of it: the sharp scrape against his good skin, then just pressure against the scar. Scrape, pressure, scrape, pressure, scrape, pressure. It should be uncomfortable.

It’s definitely not.

“Yeah, you’re one to talk. When’s the last time you got laid, hotshot?”

_Hotshot,_ he likes that one. “2046. There were groupies.”

“Mm, no wonder you were mad at Snart for getting you out of there.”

That’d been just about the least reason he’d been pissed about it. Snart coulda talked him home if he’d bothered, he always talked Mick into whatever the fuck he wanted anyway. He just hadn’t wanted to take the risk that Mick would tell him no and make it stick for the first time in their fucking lives. Prick. “Yeah.”

“But wait.” Sara leans up, suddenly enough that he gets a wash of vertigo, and peers at him from way too close. Her blue eyes are a little hazy from the drink, but it’s the forced kind of hazy that comes from chasing the blur down to the bottom of the glass. Trying to be a little drunker than she actually is. He can’t give her too much shit for it; he’s about the same. “That means you haven’t fucked anyone since before you were Chronos.”

Well, when she puts it that way. “Yeah, I guess.”

She shoves at his shoulder. “Then you’re just as bad as me, Mr. I Don’t Know It’s Been Years. _Worse._ ”

“Not like I had a lot of chance on the Time Masters’ payroll,” he protests. She makes a face.

“ _Excuses,_ ” she growls back.

He shakes his head at the poor imitation. “That supposed to be me?”

“...maybe.”

“Your impressions could use some work.”

“Gimme a break, I’m an assassin, not an actress.” He grins, preparing a joke about adult entertainment, and she flicks him hard in the belly, right above his navel. “ _Don’t_ say it.”

He brings up his free hand to rub the sore spot. She hits _hard_ , even if it’s only with one finger. “You know me, I like to keep my mouth shut.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely your defining trait. _Tact._ ”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” He crosses his eyes at her, and she ducks her chin to hide a smirk.

“Don’t play stupid.”

_It’s not playing,_ he’s tempted to tell her, but the problem with getting close to people is your usual bullshit stops working pretty fast. So instead he goes on the offensive. “Nah, playin’ stupid would be pretending that this isn’t heading where we both know it is.”

He figures there’s a chance he’ll get slapped, but that’s nothing he hasn’t had before, and from her, even. Well, her younger and softer self, anyway. This Sara is almost half as twisty as Snart, and twice as likely to have a blade on her somewhere. Probably he should’ve tread more carefully.

But when she moves to sit up, it’s not to hit him, open palm or otherwise. Instead, she goes to her knees, looks down at his face- to see if he’s serious, maybe. _As a heart attack._ Then she nods, and and with a fluid grace that belies her actual state of sobriety, she swings a leg over his hips and settles in.

“Well,” she tells him, that painfully familiar little smile playing across her lips. _Follow my lead._ “I’d hate to play dumb, then.”

“Uh-huh.” Still not entirely sure they’re doing this, but willing to play along for the moment, he slides his hands up her thighs, cups her hips in his palms. She gives a little sigh and rocks down on the rapidly swelling bulge in his jeans. Certainly _seems_ to be into it, but grief makes you do stupid shit. “You even like men that much?”

“I’m like you, I got widespread interests.” She tugs at the end of his shirt, but he doesn’t shift to let her pull it up. They can save the show-and-tell for when he’s a little more sure she’s not just gonna bolt. “You getting second thoughts already, Mick?”

“Just making sure you’re not gonna stab me for taking advantage later,” he says.

She arches an eyebrow. “I know you were boasting earlier, but I’m still not that drunk, cowboy.”

“Wasn’t quite what I was talking about.”

He can see the cloud cross her face, and he’s _almost_ sorry he brought it up. He’s always down for working out his issues the old-fashioned way, but chances are good they’re going to be on the same not-very-large ship this time tomorrow, and he’s not looking to fuck things up any worse for himself than they already are if they’re not actually on the same page.

She shifts backwards, pressing more of her weight down onto his very interested dick, and brings her hands to his. Tugs them away from her hips- not a great sign- but then she starts undoing the catches of his gloves and peeling them off, one at a time. He meets her eyes, waiting for her to make a smart comment- his palms aren’t as melted as his torso, but they’re still pretty marked up- but she just tosses them aside, never breaking eye contact, and puts his hands back to her hips. And then takes off her shirt.

Well okay then.

“The way I figure it is this,” Sara says, working her fingers under the edge of his shirt again. This time he sits up enough to let her peel it off him, the fabric briefly obscuring his vision as she continues, “We’ve already done the booze part of the wake. Inadvisable sex is next on the menu.” She gets the shirt the rest of the way off and tosses it aside the same direction as hers went, settles back into his lap, her gaze not straying to the melted skin over his ribs and shoulders. “I can’t think of a better way to send him off in style. Can you?”

He scoots up the bed, props his shoulders against the headboard so he’s got the reach enough to grab a double handful of her ass. _Fuck,_ it’s been a while. “Maybe stealin’ shit.”

The sudden edge of her smirk catches him by surprise. She shifts up just enough to reach into the pocket of her jeans and then resettles back down against his dick, holding up something that glints silver between her fingers.

“This work for you?” she says, Snart’s ring in her hand.

His cock suddenly gets a whole lot harder.

“Fuck yeah it does,” he says, and thrusts up against her, letting her know just how much. She laughs breathlessly, her eyes slitting half-closed as she grinds down. She slides the ring onto her thumb and spreads her hands over his chest, bracing herself as she rocks.

“So we doing this?”

“Couldn’t fuckin’ drag me away,” he grunts, and Sara grins at him, running her hands over his chest- not hesitating over the scars, but not particularly scoping them out, either. Just kinda feeling him up. Getting the lay of the land, so to speak.

“Aww, Micky. I think I’m touched.”

He decides to let the nickname pass and slides his hand up her back, wraps it around the nape of her neck. The taut muscle along her spine and shoulder blades is tremendously apparent through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, usually hidden under loose shirts or layers or that sweet armored coat of hers. Half his size and twice as dangerous: his favorite kind of person. She is going to ride him like a fucking rodeo pony.

“Not as touched as you’re going to be.”

“That line is terrible,” she tells him, but then she leans down and kisses him, open-mouthed and dirty, so he doesn’t really give a damn.

**~*~**

After, they lay there in surprisingly comfortable silence, Sara curled against his side with one leg thrown over his and his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her free hand is splayed out over his chest, her thumb tapping restively against his sternum. His gaze follows the flash of faceted silver as it moves.

“Was it the gun?” she asks, after a minute.

“Mm?”

“The scars. Your gun?”

As if he’d ever lose control of his own weapon like that. “On the job. The gun was an apology gift for leaving me behind to burn.” He tugs the ends of her hair, spilled out over his hand. “Don’t seem to bother you much.”

“I’ve seen worse.” He snorts, and she smiles, ruefully. “Okay, not _much_ worse, I’ll admit. At least not on someone still alive. How about, I’ve done worse?”

“Yeah, that I’ll believe.” He plays his fingers down her smooth, freckled shoulders. “Notice you’re not too marked up yourself, considering.”

“Lazarus Pit. Came back without my scars. Or my soul.” He feels his eyebrows creep upwards, and she shakes her head. “Long story. I still remember where they all were, if it makes you feel better.” She rubs the pads of her fingers over the leading edge of the one on his torso. “You go out of your way to keep yours covered up.”

“Didn’t always. After they first healed up it was fun freaking out the normals, you know? ‘Cept most went into the whole, ‘poor you’ routine, which is bullshit. Got fuckin’ old. Plus, I stand out bad enough in a crowd as it is.”

“You’re not a little guy,” she agrees, and chuckles softly at his reflexive smirk. “Yeah, laugh it up, cowboy. I’m going to be feeling that tomorrow.”

“Now who’s bein’ sweet?”

“Definitely not me.” She sighs and nudges her face into his shoulder. “You going to stick around for round two?”

“I dunno, you wore me out pretty good.”

She shoves at him lazily. “Not what I meant and you know it.”

“Oh, you mean Hunter’s fuckin’ stupid crusade to be the biggest and baddest Time Master after he blew up the Occulus and pissed all the rest off even worse?” He shrugs. “Got nothin’ better to do.”

“Yeah. Me too. Not that I don’t have anything better to do, I mean. But I’m signing back on.”

“Good.”

She turns her face just enough to arch an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, means there’s someone around who knows how to make the tough calls.”

The eyebrow goes higher. “You’re not counting yourself?”

“Me?” He grins, angling for a return smile. “Fuck, no. I look like someone with good decision-making skills to you?”

She looks sad, which wasn’t exactly his intention. “I think you do just fine,” she says softly.

“Nn. Nice to say so.” He strokes one hand down her back, conciliatory. “Just sayin’, I’m not the guy with the plan. I _like_ following someone’s lead.”

“Leonard said he kept you in check.”

_Asshole._ But there’s no heat to it. There’s a time that was plenty true, and even the last couple years he still rode a little close to the edge of his temper sometimes. He’d always been able to rely on Snart to keep a cool (heh) head, but the Time Masters wanted him working alone. It’s not the least of the shit they did to him to make him a good little drone. Not the worst, either.

“Not an issue anymore,” he says, and then amends, “More or less.” He’s always gonna have a temper. Leaving Snart on the ship and going off half-cocked to Nanda Parbat proved that. “Doesn’t mean I’m lookin’ to go it on my own anytime soon. Tried that a few days back. Didn’t take.”

Sara sighs and looks down at her hand. Taps the thumb with the ring against his chest. “I’m still not really used to looking out for anyone but myself, honestly.”

“Yeah,” he says, as gently as he knows how. “Pretty much why I trust you.”

Her gaze snaps back to his face, and he holds her gaze until a little smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Now you’re definitely being sweet,” she says, softly.

“Yeah, well. You always were my favorite.”

It’s more of a confession that she’ll probably ever know, and he’s good with that. There’s more attractive people on the ship- Kendra, for one, or Jax. There’s people he’s talked to more- if pressed, he could probably even admit that he’d call the Boy Scout a friend. But Sara was the first person on the team to look at him and Snart like they were more than just some unexploded bomb, waiting to go off at the worst possible moment. She asked them out for a drink, then danced like she knew they were watching and didn’t care. Even then she’d clearly favored Leonard, but hell, Mick was used to that. And she started a bar fight for _fun._ He never had a chance in hell, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think about it.

And now here they are. His partner, his left fucking hand, is dead, but they’re still here. There’s worse places to be.

She leans over and brushes a kiss against his jaw. Message received. Then she props her chin on his chest and sighs. Twists the ring back and forth. “I should give this back.”

He brings his hand up and flattens it over hers, trapping her hand onto his chest. “Nah. Stole it fair and square.”

She leans up just enough to squint at him suspiciously. “I’m not sure it works that way.”

He will never in a million years tell her that she looks like a grumpy kitten when she does that. “Snart stole it from the mark. Stole it onto me. You stole it from me. Seems fair to me.” He wiggles his fingers. “Not like it’s gonna fit on me anyway.”

“Let’s call it a loan,” she suggests, and bites her lip. “Until we can both give it back to him.”

He goes still. “The hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” She sighs and sits up, runs a hand through her hair. “I’m saying, how many times did you hear him say he’s always got a plan? And I know you went back to see him in 2013. Did you say anything to tip off that something was weird?”

_You’re the best guy I ever knew. You may not think you’re a hero, but you’re a hero to me._

“Nn. Maybe.”

“There you go. This is the man who scoured every inch of the _Waverider_ just on the off chance that there was something interesting worth stealing. Do you really think he wouldn’t end up on a _time ship_ and put two and two together?”

It’s a pretty thought. Tempting. But- “Not everything always went according to his goddamn plan.”

“Yeah. I know. But _if._ ”

Yeah. _If._ It’s a big if. But if she’s right-

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay. It’s yours until he can steal it back.”

She grins and leans down, her blue eyes bright. Then she bites him on the lip.

“You’ve got yourself a goddamn deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then they got tired of waiting, went and rescued their wayward thief, and sailed off into the timestream together to the tune of Rip's nagging about the timeline, having lots of sex and stealing lots of stuff and thwarting lots of bad guys and living happily ever after. So _there_.
> 
> I'm [sorrelchestnut](http://sorrelchestnut.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come say hi!


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